


lifeline

by southofzero



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: A fic to sate my desire for dad!Anderson, Attempted Sexual Assault, Colonist (Mass Effect), Default Shepard (Mass Effect), Father/Daughter Dynamics, Gen, Mindoir, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shepard (Mass Effect) Backstory, but not successful in the slightest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 14:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14263359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southofzero/pseuds/southofzero
Summary: Anderson always had a way of looking right through her, and she always had a way of surprising him.A short series detailing the girl Anderson met, the protector she became, and the hero she died as.





	lifeline

_"Alliance Marines have been deployed towards Mindoir, but from current reports, the ships are being pinned in orbit by Batarian forces. The status of the colony is unknown, due to the destruction of the communication towers during the attack. A travel advisory for the Attican Traverse is being administered across all platfo--"_

"Turn that stupid shit off, Tiff. Do you want some passing convoy to catch wind of that?" 

The girl holding the radio bristles. "Like you're doing any better, staring out the window like a tool," she retorts. "Think you can see the Alliance from all the way down here?"

The radio crackles with static, and Shepard reaches over to snatch it from Tiffany's hands. "Enough, both of you." She flicks the switch on the bottom, and the outdated model lapses into silence. "Do you really want to rip each other's throats out before the Marines get here?"

The boy, Jeremy, scoffs. "Yeah, if they don't get their own throats ripped out first."

Tiffany shoves herself up from the table. "Could you stop being a nihilistic jackass for one minute? Our troops are dying out there, you know."

"Our troops?" Jeremy turns around, unfolding his arms. "So you're a dog of the Alliance Navy now? Should have known, you were always a bitch-"

Shepard slams her hands down onto the flimsy worktable, the screws jumping and rattling. "Stop it!" She turns around, red braid whipping over her shoulder. "I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you two argue like petty children. If Eliza can shut up and stay calm, so can you."

"Who died and made you fucking Admiral, Shepard?" Jeremy fires back. He takes an accusatory step forward, and Shepard has a fist in his collar before he can take another.

She slams him into the interior paneling of the shack. "Keep running your smart mouth and I'll make sure you have to do it through broken teeth."

He struggles under her forearm, tugging insistently at her sleeve. "Fine, fine. Don't have to be a crazy bitch about it!" Shepard falters as she remembers how old he is, how much he's seen in the past two hours, and she stares him down before letting him drop.

He slips bonelessly down towards the floor, and Shepard turns her face away, feeling angry at herself. "Sorry," she says curtly.

Jeremy grunts. "Whatever."

Tiffany avoids her eyes when she turns back around, and Shepard takes the spot by the window, folding her arms under her chest.

No sign of slavers in this sector yet, but that would change quickly if they bothered to look beyond the colony base. She wonders grimly if they had finished clearing that out yet, or if they'd already moved on to sweep the perimeters. Either way, there wasn't a lot of time left.

Getting some other colony kids out was the most she could do, and even that wasn't much. She presses a knuckle to her temple and lets go of a breath, feeling it rattle painfully in her throat. Her parents didn't get mowed down for her to lose her cool in an abandoned storage container, and they definitely didn't die so she could get chipped and shipped.

She doesn't know how long she stands there, but when engines roar in the distance, Shepard jerks away from the glass. She shouldn't have expected any solace until the Marines were grounded, but she'd hoped for more time. Just a moment. She reaches for the curtains, dragging them over the window.

"Get up," she orders, turning around to scan the room for hiding places. This time, Jeremy doesn't argue. Shepard ignores the way his eyes shine as he turns his head-- if she was 14, she's sure she'd be crying too. But she's almost seventeen, and she was the only person who could help these kids now.

The tires screech and stop outside. They're going to check the other microhouses first. Shepard had been careful in choosing the most run-down storage unit in the lot, instead of the sprawling selection of colony homes. Less obvious, but also less room for a fight.

Not that it mattered, anyway. A couple of teens and a ten year old didn't make for much of a challenge.

They made for better slaughter.

She grits her teeth and grabs the handle in the floor, hauling up the heavy lid. They cut the power when they got into the colony base, making the automated controls useless. She takes a glance into the ground storage.

Just a few cases and a generator, as much good as that did now. Shepard takes a step back before ushering the other three inside, and she watches them scramble down behind the cases. Out of sight.

She sends up a desperate prayer for that to be enough.

"I'm putting the hatch back," she tells them, whispering urgently. "Don't lift it until you hear Alliance soldiers."

Tiffany pops back into view. She has Eliza in her lap: the only way all three of them could fit behind the storage containers. "What about you, Jane?"

Shepard shakes her head. "No room. Besides, they'll scour this place for survivors unless I do something."

"Do what? Get a bullet planted in your brain? Don't be a hero, Shep." Jeremy says, but the hard note in his voice falls flat. Shepard almost laughs, hysteria bubbling up in her throat.

She shakes her head. No time to answer their questions, even if she wanted to. "See you guys on the flip side."

Dropping the lid back into place is harder than getting it out, and she kicks the woven rug back on top of it. The sound of boots is getting louder, and she lets her thoughts race over all the possible outcomes.

She could get out of this alive and with her free-will. Probably not, but it wasn't good to rule out possibilities. She felt strangely calm, like the weight on her chest was a comfort instead of something crippling. Shepard backs up until her shoulders are against the wall, and she watches the door as the cold seeps into her spine.

No weapon, no backup, no impressive physical strength. She was well and truly fucked. At least if Jeremy, Tiff, and Eliza got out of this alive and unslaved, she could become a heroic footnote in some extra-net article. A neat legacy for a sixteen year old colony girl, if you asked her.

Shepard wonders if she should make herself look vulnerable, increase her odds of outsmarting them. Batarians weren't too bright. If she could get them to underestimate her, she could gouge out an eye or two before they put her down. She read somewhere their souls left their bodies through their eyes; it would be nice if she could fuck up that much.

Not that they had much in terms of souls anyway, the bastards.

She decides against it. She was going out fighting, chances be damned. Somewhere in the back of her head she knows that it's stupid, reckless, and completely futile, but she's thrumming with adrenaline and she knows the outcome is going to suck either way. Might as well wreak some havoc.

There's a voice from outside the shack, a gravelly order from across the compound, and Shepard's translator whirs in her ear. "Batarian detected, north-eastern dialect."

It chitters in a series of clicks as it switches languages, and the voices edge closer.

"Last shack. Already called in, so if we find something here I guess it's ours to keep."

"You saw this wasteland. All we're gonna find here is some more empty storage containers and dust. All the good stuff was in the base, and you ruined that for the both of us."

"Just make sure to check everything before you call this a failure."

She hears them stomp up the ramp, and the the sound of the lock override sends her stomach into a series of nauseating twists. She wraps her fingers around a soldering iron and flicks it on.

As the door trills a greeting, she rolls onto the balls of her feet. The batarians don't spot her as the door slides open, and Shepard takes advantage. There's only two of them, and the one on the left barely has time to lift his pistol before she throws a wild punch at his nose.

The delicate cartilage crunches under her knuckles. Or maybe that was her fingers breaking, she wasn't sure. He stumbles back, and the other makes a grab for her arm, wrenching her back.

Shepard reacts just as fast, adrenaline making her movements sloppy as she rams the red-hot iron into his eye. He makes a horrible noise, spitting out curses her translator trips over, and flings her away from him.

She lands hard on top of the worktable, hip cracking against the edge.

Her side is singing with pain, and she hauls herself up before a forearm braces against the back of her neck. It slams her back down, smacking her cheek against the table. The batarian growls something guttural at her, and Shepard is almost glad her translator is too old to decipher it. It probably wasn't very nice, anyway.

Her implant has no trouble picking up what he says next, though.

"Stupid _bika,_ not even worth chipping. Just fucking and killing."

The fear that races up her spine is different this time -- much, much worse. The desperation makes her fight harder. He snarls at her to stop moving, and Shepard makes a noise through her teeth. "Fuck you."

He leans down, and she feels his exhale ghost along the back of her neck. "So the human girl can speak." He shoves her shirt up above the small of the back, and Shepard shudders as his nails drag against the smooth skin. "Tell me, are there any places where you could have stashed some friends?"

She barks out a laugh, and the floored batarian makes a gurgling noise from the ground. "If I knew a hiding place, do you think I would be standing here in the open?"

The batarian shoves her head down harder, and Shepard feels a screw bite into her cheek. "You think you are smart?" He calls her a name that's rendered as static, and Shepard grimaces into the table.

"I'm smarter than your friend over there, apparently," she snaps, defiance making her bold. Maybe she could goad him into killing her before -- before whatever else he had planned. She hears the click and hiss of a gun being drawn, and the batarian shoots twice in the direction of his comrade. Shepard flinches at the sound of the recoil.

He shoves the gun back into its holster. "He was an idiot. I don't share my prizes with idiots."

Shepard's eyes wander towards the dead alien, and while she couldn't see him, the encroaching pool of blood was evidence enough. Another thing catches her eye. The barrel of a gun -- a sniper rifle, by the length -- was on the floor next to him. He probably dropped it during her attack.

Her attention is dragged back as the batarian wraps her braid around his fist. "Do all human women have handles?" he says snidely, and Shepard clenches her fist underneath her collarbone. Did all batarians have a penchant for cruel stupidity?

When he yanks her head back by the hair, Shepard bites back a cry of pain. The batarian's free hand slips up the front of her shirt, and she wrenches sideways, an attempt to pry apart the contact between his hand and her skin. He shoves her back, trapping her hips against the edge of the table.

Shepard can't tell if the metallic tang in her mouth is from blood or panic. A wave of nausea makes her pitch forward, and she swallows back the urge to gag.

Getting her face shoved in vomit while she was being assaulted didn't make any of this seem better, and dying covered in her own sick sounded like a worst-case-scenario she'd rather avoid. Not that it could get much worse from here, right?

She tries not to kid herself, it could always be worse. 

For a moment she stops struggling, letting the despair wash away the feeling of his hands on her skin.

Apparently the vulnerable hopelessness was boring, because the batarian growls against her shoulder. "Done fighting already?" He pinches her hard enough to make her knee jerk into the underside of the worktable. "Guess I'll have to make you cry, since you're not gonna fight."

"I'm not done," she growls into the table. "Just waiting for a chance to kill you."

He laughs directly into her ear, and the mocking tone makes her skin itch with rage and self-loathing. "Keep waiting, _piroslany."_

She stares dimly at the smear of blood below her face, not realizing it was hers until another drop joins it. Her cheek is bleeding. Her cheek is bleeding, and there are three kids in a storage hatch listening to her argue with her to-be murderer.

Her teeth clench painfully. The feeling of his groin against her ass is suddenly more infuriating than horrifying, and she glares down at the table.

The sniper rifle was close enough, if she could just...

A hand slips down her abdomen, and Shepard feels her stomach turn over with revulsion. Her eyes sting as it slips closer towards her hips, but she forces herself to think. Of anything that could solve this. Anything that could get her a step closer to that damn rifle.

What would she do with it? She'd never shot anything more powerful than an training pistol.

The batarian's fingers graze her hipbone, hooking into the waistband of her uniform, and her heart thuds painfully in her ears. She decides quickly that anything would be better than being violated and murdered. At least if she pissed him off enough, she could get her bullet before the rape instead of after.

Her ears ring, and her world spins away from the peripheral view of the floor behind her. Away from the gun barrel and the ever-creeping puddle of blood.

His forehead lifts from her shoulderblade.

Shepard reacts like a crazed animal.

Slamming her head back, she feels the back of her skull meet his face. He lets go of her hair, and Shepard stumbles back with him, catching herself on the tables edge while he tumbles to the floor behind her.

The sniper rifle is so damn close, so damn close. A large hand wraps around her ankle before she can make it, and she almost bites her tongue in half as she's swept her off her feet. She cries out as she hits the floor, arms slipping in the other batarian's blood as she tries to pull herself up.

Shepard reaches out, clawing at the grooved floor for purchase, and her fingers graze the gun. Her next stretch has her fingertips hooking around the muzzle, and she drags the weapon a few precious centimeters towards her. The slaver snarls as he realizes what she's doing, and Shepard wraps her blood-slick hands around the rifle.

She twists and swings, her grip slipping around the wet barrel as she sends it heavy-side-first into the alien's face. It connects, and the crunch of bones and cartilage sticks in her ears. She can't tell if it makes her feel sick or overjoyed.

Shepard scrambles away, the strained muscles in her arms and side screaming in protest. She doesn't stop until she hits the wall.

_She was alive, he was down, and the other one was dead. She was alive, he was down, and the other one was dead. She was alive, he was --_

Her breath keeps freezing and unfreezing, the dry sobs feeling like sand in an open wound. Shepard puts her head between her knees. She needed to calm down; stop panicking and start breathing before she hyperventilated herself into unconsciousness. She knows this, but it doesn't make it any easier. 

_She was alive, he was down, and the other one was dead. She was alive, he was down, and the other --_

The batarian is still breathing, wheezing through his broken face. His fingers twitch: a weak, feeble promise of what he would do if he managed to get up.

Shepard lifts her head and stares at him, sobs hiccuping in her throat. Her panic melts away, re-freezing into a cold, cruel apathy.

She needed to kill him.

Did she even have enough compassion to put him out of his misery with the gun? It would only take a shot. One hard, fast recoil.

One bullet.

Grabbing the bloody sniper rifle, she clambers back to her feet.

 _No mercy,_ she decides,  _but I'll kill him anyway._

The next few blows are clumsy and final.

.:.:.:.

Alliance Marines make ground contact later that night.

They find only a few survivors among the wreckage of the colony, and the ships full of colonists are gone by the time the troops lift their heads above water. They dispatch backup to track them down, but what they return with are little more than bodies and raving, half-insane victims. The batarian mind-control chips were a failure, a fate worse than death. 

The rest of the colonists go unaccounted for. 

The Mindoir sun bakes the dead slavers like meat in an oven, and Shepard moves the kids to another shack before midday. Eliza covers her eyes to avoid looking at the blood, which has long dried into a disgusting scab on the floor of the microhouse.

No Alliance uniforms make it as far as the research compound, and Shepard sits a quiet vigil on the ramp through the night, waiting for help that never comes.

The next morning, she shoulders the sniper rifle -- a heavily modified, outdated, piece of shit Avenger -- and tells the others to stay put. Tiffany casts a heavy look at the blood smeared over her arms, and Jeremy's eyes don't leave the gun on her back. Eliza is still asleep, thankfully, worn out enough that she'd finally stopped asking questions.

Shepard leaves the pistol, just in case.

It's a long, hot walk to the colony base, and Shepard can feel a sunburn at the base of her neck when she finally runs into a patrol. It's a squad of three led by a man in slate-grey armour.

The Alliance had to care a fuckton about Mindoir to send an N7 this late in the game, Shepard thinks bitterly.

One of the soldiers takes one look at the blood smeared up her arms and reaches for his comm unit. Shepard stops short and stares him down. "Call for evac and I'll be pissed," she says, loudly, and the N7 turns around to look at her. He waves his hand, and the soldier freezes before dropping his hand from his ear.

"We understand you're scared--" one of them starts, but the N7 finishes for him.

"We can call a female officer, if you'd like. Are you hurt?"

Shepard shakes her head. "I'm fine. The blood isn't mine." She pauses, jerking a thumb back towards the research shacks. "I've got people waiting for me to come back. Kids, mostly."

One of the soldiers is having a hard time wiping the shock off his face, and Shepard is sure she'd feel smug if she wasn't exhausted and dehydrated. The N7, a broad-shouldered man with warm eyes, steps forward. "Officer Caine can take you back, and Lieutenant Harris and I will look for your friends. You've got quite the nasty cut on your face, don't you want to get that checked out?"

She's never felt her patience get sapped away so quickly. Shepard stiffens, stopping the N7 in his tracks. "I told you, I'm fine. I'll cooperate after we bring those kids back." She didn't get her chest groped so those kids could sit in the heat while she got a scratch treated.

One of the soldiers looks ready to argue, but the N7 waves him off again. Apparently she appealed to the right one. "Alright, I'll bring around the truck. Lead the way, Commander."

Whether the title is meant to mock her or placate her, she doesn't know and she doesn't care. She got what she wanted, and that was enough.

They don't try to talk to her on the way there, and Shepard points them in the right direction with curt instructions.

Eliza busts out the shack as the truck shudders to a stop in front of the compound, and Shepard is almost knocked back with the force of her hug. Jeremy puts up a strong front, but he bursts into tears the moment a soldier coaxes the pistol from his hands.

They start loading the kids into the truck, one of the soldiers offering them water, but Shepard hesitates. She lingers by the rampway, flaking away the dried blood on her arms while the other two check each shack. She can feel their gazes on her when they get back.

"You survived something terrible, miss," the N7 says, and Shepard folds her arms.

"Tell me something I don't know."

He hesitates. "Can you tell me what happened, for the file? Or do you want to see a medic first?"

Heaving a sigh, Shepard shifts her weight to her other foot and runs her hands through her blood-matted bangs. "I beat a batarian to death with the butt of a sniper rifle. What did it look like?"

"It looked like you were pretty desperate to make sure they were both dead."

She glances away again, focusing on the hazy skyline. She had always hated that about Mindoir, the ugly sunsets, but the dusty view is nearly comforting now. "I didn't kill the first one. Blinded him, maybe, but his partner was the one that pumped him full of lead."

The first soldier makes a noise in the back of his throat. "No loyalty among criminals."

"Did he try to do anything to you?" the N7 says softly, and Shepard grits her teeth. She wants to be angry, laugh in his face for avoiding the word like a landmine, but she huffs out a sigh instead.

She knows what he means. Rape. Did the batarian try to force himself on you? Get some entertainment before he painted a mural with your brains and a bullet? Shepard shrugs. "He tried, but I was pretty determined to be a huge pain in the ass, if you couldn't tell."

He nods, but she notices the way his shoulders loosen. Crisis averted. He taps his fingers against the ceramic plating of his arm guards. "Did you put yourself on the line to save those kids?"

Shepard feels her jaw clench. He must notice-- she hadn't given his questions a reaction before. She tries to swallow past the cotton in her mouth, feeling her heartbeat pound painfully in her temples.

She really thought she was going to die in there.

She knew if they lifted that hatch that it was over. Her dead body wasn't going to change that. But the chance that her distraction would lead them away from the kids was an easy question with an easier answer. At the time, at least. Now her sacrifice is a bitter pill to swallow, a bullet she barely dodged.

She had acted with no regard for her own life, and that terrified her.

Shepard's grip tightens, and she digs her nails into the soft skin of her arms. "Yes," she answers, "I did, and it was stupid."

"Not stupid, brave," he corrects gently. He offers his hand, a warm, brown contrast to her own. "Anderson. Commander David Anderson."

She takes his hand like a lifeline and shakes it twice. "Shepard, sir. Just Shepard."

"It's an honor to meet you, Shepard."

**Author's Note:**

> future chapters to come. thank you so much for reading.


End file.
